


Peace Offering

by BrighteyedJill



Series: Ghost in Your Closet [2]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-07
Updated: 2008-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a night alone with his youngest son, and he has a surprise for Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace Offering

**Author's Note:**

> Written sort of as a continuation of [ There’s bound to be a ghost in the back of your closet](http://brighteyed-jill.livejournal.com/31078.html#cutid1), which was Arthur/Peter. But it’ll still make sense if you haven’t read it.

  


“Hey Mom.” Peter gave Angela a kiss on the cheek and dropped his bookbag on the counter. “You have time to help me with some French homework tonight?” He rummaged through the cabinets, on the hunt for peanut butter. “I have a test tomorrow.”

  
“Oh, Peter. Putting it off a little late, aren’t we?” She sighed.

  
He found what he was looking for and turned to give his mother a lopsided grin. “Sorry Mom.”

  
“Well I can’t tonight. Paula Gramble and I are taking a trip to the spa. We’ll be gone until Thursday.”

  
Peter felt the blood drain from his face. Two nights alone with his father. He put the peanut butter back in the cabinet; he wasn’t hungry anymore.

  
“Peter, what’s wrong?” Angela noticed his distress immediately. “Is it that important of a test? We can get you a tutor.”

  
“No, it’s fine,” he said. He tried to keep the tremble out of his voice. “I’d better get a head start before dinner, then.” Peter snatched up his backpack and fled the room.  
\--

  
All evening Peter had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He sat at his desk, staring blindly at his French notes. Normally he would be sprawled out on his bed, but tonight the sick pit of dread in his stomach prevented him from even looking in that direction. He hadn’t seen Arthur yet, but he’d heard him come home, heard Angela leave. His cell phone sat in front of him, taunting. He wanted to call Nathan and ask him to come over, or ask if he could go over there, or ask him to _help_ somehow, but he couldn’t. Nathan would want to know why, and he couldn’t tell Nathan that. Nathan couldn’t know. He couldn’t ever know.

  
Arthur appeared in the doorway. The bright glow from the hallway haloed him in light and threw his face into shadow, making his expression unreadable. “Get your coat,” he said.

  
Peter’s stomach gave a sick lurch. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all, and change in routine never meant anything good. “Where are we going?” He was surprised how normal his voice sounded.

  
“Don’t worry about that.” Arthur said. He didn’t move from the doorway. He just stood watching Peter, waiting for him to obey.

  
“It’s a school night,” he said weakly. When he got no response, he added, “I have a French test tomorrow.”

  
Arthur chuckled nastily. “Peter, please. I’ve seen your grades. What I have in mind is a much better use of your time and… talents.”

  
The shame was like a stabbing pain in his gut. He lowered his eyes. “Should I…” Peter wet his lips and tried to get the question out. “Should I change?”

  
Arthur looked him over once, quickly. He was still in his school uniform: navy pants, white shirt, navy sweater, red tie.

  
“No,” said Arthur. “That’ll do. Move.”  
\--

  
In the car, Arthur didn’t speak to him. Peter spent the entire car ride sitting inches away from his father in the back seat, imagining the possible reasons why Arthur would take him somewhere on a night when the house was deserted. No scenario he came up with made him anything less than terrified.  
\--

The driver dropped them off at the Four Seasons. Arthur had a suite reserved. Peter followed him into the elevator silently, fighting against the mounting dread that had formed a cold ball somewhere in his middle. The suite was beautiful: the lights of Manhattan stretched out below them, twinkling like stars. There was a bottle of champagne on ice, and a fully stocked bar. Arthur handed Peter his coat and went to pour himself a drink.

  
“Hang up our coats, and go to the bedroom,” he said as he poured.

  
“Why?” Peter got the word out, though it nearly strangled him.

  
Arthur slammed his glass down on the counter, rounded on Peter, and closed the distance between them in three long strides. He grabbed Peter by the tie and wrenched him forward. “Listen to me, you worthless cum dumpster. You will not humiliate us tonight. If you don’t want to see your brother ruined, you will do exactly as I say. Is that understood?”

  
Peter had never seen his father turn to this dangerous, quiet brand of angry without the benefit of more alcohol. “Yes sir,” he choked out. He wasn’t sure what Arthur meant, exactly, when he talked about Nathan, but Peter could imagine. He could imagine too well.

  
“Come on.” Arthur snapped his fingers and headed into the suite’s bedroom. Peter thought, for one wild moment, about running. But he never made a move for the door. He wouldn’t be a coward. Whatever he had to endure for Nathan’s sake, he would endure. He followed Arthur into the bedroom.

  
“Get on your knees,” Arthur said calmly, pointing to a spot on the floor. His rage was gone as quickly as it had come, and he was in control of himself again, commanding and no less intimidating for speaking at a normal volume. Peter knelt, keeping his head down.

  
“Hands behind your back.” Peter clasped his left wrist with his right hand at the small of his back.

  
“Now stay still.”

  
Finally, Arthur was going to get down to business. This waiting, anticipating his father’s next move, was almost worse than the main event. Arthur carded a hand through Peter’s hair, almost affectionately. Peter prepared to have his jaw wrenched open, to have Arthur violate his mouth, but nothing else happened. Arthur let his hand fall and walked away.  
\--

  
Peter’s knees were starting to ache, and his back was killing him. He wasn’t sure if he couldn’t move because Arthur had used his ability to prevent it, or if he was still simply out of habit. Neither would surprise Peter. He had no way to tell how much time had passed, but it seemed like an hour, at least, since his father had left the room. He thought he’d heard the door open and close, maybe half an hour ago, but he couldn’t be sure.

  
Peter couldn’t bear to contemplate that he might be kneeling here of his own free will, held by nothing more than his fear, when Arthur might not even be in the next room. He hated that his father had that much control over him. This was almost certainly a test of some kind, to see how far Peter would go. Well, Arthur might not have any faith in him, but Peter was strong in ways his father couldn’t possibly understand. He wouldn’t give Arthur any excuse to alter the terms of their tacit arrangement and prey on Nathan instead. So he held still.  
\--

  
Later, although Peter wasn’t sure how much later, he heard his father’s booming laugh. The door opened in the next room, and Peter heard his father’s voice mixing with someone else’s. His father had brought someone else back to the suite. Peter’s heart pounded into overdrive as adrenaline hit his body in a rush. That’s why Arthur had gone to all the trouble of getting a hotel room, bringing Peter here, making him wait.

  
“Nightcap, Daniel?”

  
“Love one.”

  
Daniel. Peter didn’t recognize the voice, not from just two words, but he filed furiously through memories of all his father’s friends, trying to recall anyone who this might be. He stopped cold when he realized that it could be a stranger. Maybe Arthur invited a stranger here to fuck him, to make Peter realize what a whore he truly was.

  
“I brought you here to present you with a little gift.” Arthur’s voice came closer, and that was the point at which Peter decided a compulsion must be holding him still, because his body was screaming at him to _run run run run run._

  
“It’s a token of appreciation for everything you’re doing for the family.”

  
“Arthur, you didn’t need to—Oh.” From where his eyes were fixed on the floor, Peter could only see the expensive, polished shoes of the two men standing in the doorway. He was glad he couldn’t see their faces. “Oh my. _Peter_.”

  
The _hunger_ behind that word sent a shiver down Peter’s spine that even an order to stay still couldn’t prevent.

  
“It’s the least I could offer,” Arthur said. Peter could hear the note of smugness in his voice. Arthur had guessed correctly about this man—whoever he was—and his interest in Peter. “Look at me, son.”

  
Peter raised his head. His father was smiling like a predator, but he wasn’t the one Peter was afraid of. Now that he had a face to put with the name, Peter recognized Daniel Linderman: one of his father’s biggest clients, an old friend of the family, and a notorious criminal. Linderman’s intense blue eyes caught Peter and held him for a moment before Linderman smiled fondly and turned back to Arthur. “He’s just beautiful.”

  
Peter tamped down the rush of pride that came at that declaration. He shouldn’t care what this man thought. He should care that he was _good_ at this, that he was making his father proud.

  
“He’s not just decorative,” Arthur said.

  
Linderman and Arthur stared at each other for a moment. Peter wondered what the hell had happened between the two men to bring them to this moment: a staring contest over a cowering human sacrifice. He wondered, bitterly, what victory was at stake here.

  
At last, Arthur laughed, breaking the standoff. “There’s no need to be shy. He’s been broken in.” He strode over to Peter and shoved two fingers into his mouth. “You should feel his mouth, Daniel. A whore’s lips. Like his mother. You remember.”

  
“Yes,” Linderman said simply. “He’s a gorgeous creature. Are you sure?” He said no more, but Peter’s mind quickly raced through all the ways that sentence could end. _Are you sure you want to share him? Are you sure he won’t mind? Are you sure you want to use your son’s body as a bargaining tool?_

  
Arthur cupped Peter’s chin in his free hand. “He may have the face of an angel, but he’s far from innocent. He was tainted long before I ever touched him.” Peter closed his eyes to keep Arthur from seeing the defiance there. Not tainted. What he did with Nathan wasn’t sick, wasn’t awful, wasn’t wrong.

  
“Are you sure of that? The Petrellis seem to destroy everything they touch.”

  
“As opposed to you?” Arthur shoved his fingers further into Peter’s mouth. Peter gagged, and tears sprang to his eyes, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t pull away.

  
“I want to save the world, Arthur. Heal it.” Linderman stepped closer and wiped his thumb against the side of Peter’s cheek, catching the tear there. “Not destroy it.”

  
Arthur pulled his fingers back to rest between Peter’s lips. “I’m not asking you to destroy it. Just to help me.”

  
Linderman looked down at Peter and petted his hair softly. Peter felt pinned under his eyes, like a butterfly in a display case. The man’s expression was inscrutable. Arthur’s fingers slid into his mouth, gently this time, then back out. “Well?”

  
Linderman nodded.

  
“Get up,” Arthur said. Peter stood. His legs felt rubbery: a combination of nerves and of kneeling for too long. He found himself fixing his eyes on his father: anything to avoid Linderman’s gaze. “Take your clothes off.”

  
This was it. Moment of truth. If Peter had any shame at all, any sense of self-preservation, he wouldn’t strip in a hotel room in front of his father and his father’s business associate. But he wasn’t here for himself. He was here for Nathan. Because he couldn’t bear to think of proud, beautiful Nathan kneeling for their father, spreading for him, debasing himself. Peter could do all that and more. He could bend like a reed in the path of his father’s demands, and he would not break. Probably.

  
“Peter,” Arthur said warningly.

  
Peter knew what he had to do. He pulled his sweater off first, tossing it carelessly onto the floor, and followed up by loosening his tie and pulling it off over his head. Arthur took a seat on the divan across from the bed without taking his eyes from Peter. After a moment, Linderman sank into the armchair next to the bed, only a few feet from where Peter stood.

  
Peter toed off his shoes, and began to unbutton his shirt. He kept his eyes on the floor because he didn’t want to choose who to focus on. He tried to keep his mind blank. After another moment of hesitation, he slipped off his white t-shirt and tossed it aside as well. His nipples hardened in the chill air of the room, and he resisted the urge to cover his chest like a girl.

  
He was reaching to unbutton his pants when he felt a hand on his bare back, and nearly jumped out of his skin. “Shhh,” Linderman soothed him. He curved a hand around Peter’s waist and tugged him closer to his armchair. “Let me.”

  
Peter’s eyes flicked to his father. Arthur watched impassively and gave no signal. Peter was expected to behave. So he would. He wouldn’t disappoint his father. He wouldn’t disgrace the family. Linderman gently undid the button and the zipper on Peter’s pants and pulled them down to pool around his ankles. He didn’t pause before pulling Peter’s boxers down as well, so Peter had no time to hyperventilate, despite the _I am strong, I am brave, I am Peter Petrelli and I can do this_ mantra rattling around his head.

  
Linderman ran a warm hand down Peter’s flank, and an absurd thought hit Peter: Linderman was the first man outside the family to touch him like that. Never mind that no on in his family should be touching him like that. With Nathan, it had never felt wrong. It had just felt good, and it felt good now, too. Soothing. Peter was hard. He shouldn’t be, but he was. Just like every time with Arthur. So maybe there was some truth to Arthur’s repeated accusations: this is what Peter was good for, this was what he got off on, this was the only thing he could do right.

  
“Oh Arthur,” Linderman said with a sigh. He was rubbing his thumb in little circles against Peter’s hip. “Your family is so beautiful.”

  
“I told you he’s not just for looks.” Peter thought he detected a note of impatience in his father’s voice. “The boy does have a practical use.”

  
Peter felt the words like a punch. _Practical use_. Like a tool. Like a toy. Not a person.

  
“Yes of course.” Linderman gave Peter’s ass a playful swat. “Off you go.” He pointed at Arthur. “Show me what you can do.”

  
Peter stared at Linderman for a moment, uncomprehending, but the man’s guileless smile didn’t waver.

  
“Oh for God’s sake, Peter, come here,” Arthur snapped.

  
And Peter did, like a dog answering his master’s voice. He had no idea what Linderman wanted from him. His father, as much as he hated the man, was a known quantity. He sank to his knees in front of Arthur only to be pulled forward roughly by the neck. He took the hint, fumbling at the front of Arthur’s pants until his cock sprang free and Peter could suck it.

  
When he tasted Arthur’s familiar salty musk on his tongue, he nearly moaned in relief. Between his legs, his own hard-on was a warm, heavy weight. This was familiar and not particularly difficult. This was something he knew his father wanted him to do. After hours of waiting on pins and needles, unsure of what was expected, at last Peter could _do_ something to move the evening along. The sooner he could finish this, the sooner he could go home, dose himself with his mom’s Ambien, and try to pretend he wasn’t his father’s whore.

  
“His mouth is perfect,” Linderman said. His voice came from behind and above Peter somewhere; he’d moved from his chair.

  
Arthur tightened his grip on Peter’s neck and pulled him deeper, until Peter could feel Arthur’s cockhead nudging the back of his throat.

  
Linderman drew in a quick breath, and Peter felt a little swell of pride. Peter had some idea of how he must look: kneeling placidly on the carpet, naked but for his socks, his erection jutting up between his legs, his lips stretched around Arthur’s cock.

  
“His mouth’s not the only thing he’s got going for him,” Arthur said.

  
“Of course not.” The next moment, Linderman was kneeling behind Peter, a hand on the upturned curve of his ass. Peter heard a bottle top flick, and a spicy juniper scent hit the air. Then Linderman’s hand slipped between his ass cheeks, spreading something cold and creamy. “Peter, you’d do anything for your family, wouldn’t you?”

  
Peter couldn’t exactly answer with his mouth wrapped around Arthur’s dick, so he pulled off long enough to mutter a “yes sir” before returning to his duty.

  
Linderman “hmm”’d and slid a slick finger into Peter’s ass. Then two. The way wasn’t difficult, not with lotion to ease the passage. “I’m sure your family appreciates your loyalty. And your sacrifice.” Linderman added a third finger and shoved them all in as far as they could go. Peter gasped around Arthur’s cock as a stab of pain shot up his spine.

  
“Shhh.” Linderman stroked a hand down Peter’s back, and the pain disappeared. “I’m sure your selflessness will serve your family well in the days to come. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”

  
Peter looked up to see his father narrowing his eyes at Linderman, stoic despite the distractions. “I’m sure you’re right, Daniel.”

  
Linderman pulled his fingers out, then, and the blunt head of his cock nudged at Peter’s hole a moment before Linderman snapped his hips forward, spearing into Peter.

  
Peter groaned against Arthur’s dick, squirming in discomfort. Arthur clamped a hand down on Peter’s shoulder and gritted his teeth. Peter could tell from the salty pre-come dripping down his throat that Arthur was close.

  
Linderman kept stroking Peter’s back affectionately as he sank in further. There was so much inside Peter, too much, with Arthur practically choking him and Linderman continuing to press in further until Peter couldn’t believe there was any space at all inside of him that they didn’t fill, no part of him they weren’t touching.

  
Then Linderman’s hand wrapped around Peter’s dick, and Jesus. Only Nathan had ever done that for Peter, and this, now, touched something inside of Peter he didn’t know he wanted left alone, broke something he didn’t know he’s miss. He moaned, deep inside his chest, and then Arthur’s hand was bumping against his chin as he jerked himself furiously to finish in Peter’s mouth.

  
Before Peter was done swallowing, Linderman began to move, his cock sliding in Peter’s ass, his hand never leaving Peter’s dick. When Arthur finally pulled out of his mouth, Peter gulped in air desperately. The oxygen gave him a feeling of euphoria that maybe probably possibly had nothing to do with the slam of Linderman’s hips against his, the tight clench of his ass with every thrust, the hand slip-sliding so sweetly just where he needed it. When Peter came, it was looking up at his father’s smug, self-satisfied, almost-proud smile.


End file.
